


Phases of the Moon

by tippens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Dead Sam Winchester, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Dean Winchester, Loss, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester is Dean Winchester's Son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tippens/pseuds/tippens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't do change. He hates it. And Sam's monologue about how Dean should 'let go' before he died didn't help. All Dean could think since then was Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. What is he supposed to do without his brother?</p><p> </p><p>Inspired by this post:<br/>http://outside-the-n0rm.tumblr.com/post/94231775028/holyfrackles-like-look-at-him-fucking-look-at</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phases of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MENTION OF SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER

**DAY 43**  
Sam had closed the gates to the world’s Hell and opened the gates to Dean’s.

The flames from six weeks ago still burned at him.

Jody cried and clung to him while he stood like stone. He should’ve been sobbing too, he knew that. The fact that the burning mass wasn’t really Sammy made it easier. Jody didn’t know that, though. And Dean felt cruel letting this big lie play out in front of her, but she didn’t give him a choice.

 _”We gotta do it, Dean,”_ she begged. _”So he can move on.”_

But Dean didn’t want Sam to ‘move on’. Dean let him loose once already and let him die. He can’t let him go again. He already killed his brother. Was she really expecting him to abandon him for good?

He dropped her off at her place and sped off to home. He handled the body bag like ancient fine china.

Sam was buried in a safe spot near the bunker. That night, followed by so many others, Dean didn’t sleep waiting for Sam to come and give him the what-for. Cuss him out or beat him up for getting him killed.

But Sam didn’t speak.

When Dean did sleep, Sam would stand in the dark corners of whatever room Dean was in, just glaring with dark shadows painting his face.

The dark, dead Sam was torturous and unnerving to watch, but it was the only Sam he would get, so Dean looked forward to the dreams.

The painted over bumps on the wall seemed to stick out more than they really did. Felt kinda trippy staring at the wall for so many minutes - hours maybe - but Dean didn’t care. He didn’t feel strong enough to move.

_“It’s not up to you, Dean. I can do this.”_

_“What if you can’t?” Dean had snapped back. “What if you die- have you thought of that? You’re not invincible, Sam!”_

_“If I die, I die.”_

_“What?!”_

_“I just-”_

_“No! ‘Just’ nothing! You are not doing this!”_

_“It’s not your decision.”_

Every night the dreams got worse. A bloody, wrecked Sam shambling after Dean, telling him how he let him down like everybody else he’s ever known.

He'd come back. He just needed time. They always came back. Sammy'd find a way.  
Where the fuck was Cas?

The empty six pack forced Dean to stand and get dressed. He grabbed his keys from the dresser that held an old television. Closing the bunker door behind him, he looked up at the Impala.

Sam had sat in the passenger’s side for years. He couldn’t drive with that memory staring into the side of his face. The hour long walk to the liquor store was more bearable.

…

A cute little brunette checked him out while the employee rung up his Kentucky Whiskey and El Sol beers. Feeling buzzed and lonely, he chatted her up for a bit then offered to go back to her place. Not being stupid or blind to Dean’s awesome looks to personality ratio, ‘Hazel’ accepted.  
Whiskey dick was never a problem for Dean. He could be full of animal tranquilizers and still be able to get hard. Hazel could taste the beer on his tongue when the bell of the metal door dictated their departure. She didn’t usually think beards were hot, but this guy was an exception.  
She straddled him in the backseat while he unbuttoned his pants. They had sex in her car, covered by the shadows deciding neither wanted to wait to get to a bed.

Even though they were fucking in a car in a dark parking lot after just meeting, there was a closeness between them. As if - at least just for these moments - they were healing each other. Filling in the cracks, smoothing over the dents, and replacing the shattered glass.

She came fairly quickly with a silent response to the intense warmth that poured over her body. Dean moaned quietly as he spouted white onto his bare stomach.

On the hood of her car they watched the stars and the act spilled Sam back into Dean’s head.

“I don’t like feelings,” he blurted, not wanting to carry the weight in silence.

“Heh. Totally get you there.”

“What’s with you?”

“Mom hates me. Never gave her a reason to… but she does. I’m done caring. You?”

“My brother’s dead.”

“Shit,” she was very shocked.

A moment of silence was held after that. She thought it’d be respectful to not talk until he was ready.

“Six weeks.”

“I'm sorry. I know that's something everyone says, but I mean it. That's... That's tough. Were you close?”

“Ayuh. He was like my kid, but my best friend at the same time.”

Dean folded his arms over his jacket.

“I keep thinking he'll come back. Like it's just for a little while. If I just give him time, he'll find his way back to me.”

Hazel knew what he needed. She crawled over and snuggled on him. That was a corny thing that she had needed so badly when her chronic depression came back around. He didn't seem in the mood to reciprocate, so when he did, she smiled. This guy wasn't easily destroyed by tragedy. No, he was not.

“Sorry about your mom.”

“You’re sweet, Dean.”

* * *

After Hazel dropped him off, Dean lay on his bed fully clothed with crossed arms, Bon Jovi rocking out of his head phones.

He couldn’t feel a thing and he didn’t want to.

His mind went blank.

His heart was numb.

He liked it that way.

**DAY 44**

57 missed calls on the phone he hadn’t touched in a month. He wanted the caller ID to show Bobby’s number. But instead a bunch of other hunters with jobs for him and Jody showed up. He wanted to answer Jody but he couldn’t talk to her. She thought she had helped him burn Sam and probably wanted to talk about it. Dean just wanted to leave that night behind.

Every ring told him to call Hazel. It took him a few days to pick up the phone, but he did.  
Hazel came over to the bunker on her night off from work on the seventh week since Sam. Usually Dean wouldn’t have strangers around his home, but the different circumstances warranted different rules - or in his case, none at all.

She brought him burgers because he had admitted over the phone that he didn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Hazel could tell. She hadn’t known the past features of the green eyed man, but right now Dean seemed thinner than he would otherwise be.

He bit into the burger inducing a spread of comfort and familiar excitement.

“Thanks for this,” he said through the ketchup, mustard, pickles, and beef.

“No problem.”

She rested her head on the arm that adorned the marble table while he chewed. His lips were like none she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing, even with the crumbs coating them.

“Are you doing okay? I mean, of course not okay, but… better?”

“Sure,” he lied.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Yeah.”

She noticed the many cuts at his jaw and cheeks in different stages of healing.

“Rough shaving razors?”

“Got a little careless,” he honestly explained. “I ain’t one of those emo kids. I don’t do it on purpose.”

“Hey, I used to be ‘one of those emo kids’.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged.

They sat quietly while she sipped her soda.

“Why do y’all do that anyway?”

“You can’t tell me it didn’t give you a rush. Made you feel alive for just a second.”

Dean remembered the crimson of his blood surfacing on his skin.

“Whatever,” she waved it off. “It’s good that you’re not cutting. Nasty habit.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s getting late. I guess I should go.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Uh, hey. Maybe you could… stay. With me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Winchester. I just met you. What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“I need you,” he whispered.

Hazel mentally sighed. She fell for the lost puppy act. Again. Now she’s alone in an underground house in the middle of nowhere with some horny stranger. This asshole. She knew sleeping with him as soon as she did would just see her as a slut. It’s her own damn fault.

Dean surprised Hazel with an embrace. He was tired of being a rock. Now he was vulnerable and didn’t care. She felt ashamed at her previous assumptions and wrapped her arms around him.

“Please stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Sleep came at some point but he didn’t dream of Sammy like he’d expected.

The world just went black for a few minutes and then it was noon the next day.

Just as well, he guessed.


End file.
